


Who is This... This is Dan

by Bethofbells



Category: The Mindy Project
Genre: Drunk Dialing, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:58:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1971549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethofbells/pseuds/Bethofbells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We're just a couple of drunk dialing besties who can't get our crap together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jameson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shella_belle](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shella_belle).



**A/N: Short Multichapter about Drunk dialing besties that are secretly (or not so secretly) in love with one anothe** r. **Happy Birthday Michelle :P.**

Ice. He needed ice, something to dull the burn as the amber liquid splashed down his throat. How could there be no ice in his fucking apartment? Apparently Alex hadn't planned that particular aspect of her dinner party, their guests emptying out the tiny ice maker in his freezer.

He shrugged, hefting the nearly full bottle in his hand, the cool green glass slipping against his fingers as he brought the beveled lip to his mouth. Fire cascaded down his throat as he took the longest gulp he could manage. He didn't really go in for hard liquor, not usually. One mistaken binge in his early teens, Stevie along for the ride. It was the first and last time he'd stolen anything, sweating bullets as he helped his friend pry open the hinge to his mother's liquor cabinet. What had it been? Sherry? Something she cooked with no doubt. He shuddered at the memory.

In his entire adult life, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd turned to whiskey and the like. Only when he was angry, when the only option was getting really drunk really fast or putting his fist through a plate glass window. He was a doctor, the first thing wasn't really an option.

He slumped on his couch, kicking his feet upon the coffee table, wincing as the soles of his shoes scuffed the edge. If any guest had done such a thing, he would have ushered them straight out the door immediately. It didn't matter, though, not now. His whole apartment was a mess, cups and tiny paper plates littered every available surface. Even his piano. Did no one have any sense of respect?

He seethed. The memory of Mindy trying, repeatedly, to _sit_ on his piano grated on him. Mindy, Mindy, Mindy. Everything always circled back to her. She brought a fucking male prostitute into his home, and she wondered why he was upset. She hadn't even been invited.

The muscles in his hand flexed against the bottle, reflexively trying to form a fist, the knuckles turning white. The son of a bitch had sat at his piano, playing it infinitely better than himself. Had Mindy known that Adam, if that even was his real name, could play piano better than him? Probably. It was exactly the sort of thing she would do, bring some piano playing gigolo (is that what they were called?) to show him up at his own party, just because she was mad.

And she thought they were friends. How ridiculous. A friend wouldn't blab about you to your girlfriend, and ruin god damn everything. The bottle made it's way to his lips again, clinking against his teeth in his haste. Alex, right, she was the one he should be thinking about. Not Mindy Lahiri, party crasher extraordinaire.

Guilt crashed over him in an unexpected wave. He hadn't thought about Alex since she'd stormed out, focused entirely on the person he deemed to be the source of all his problems, so focused in fact, that he'd somehow failed to notice the sensation of relief when Alex walked out the door. A bitter laugh tumbled from his lips. He was an ass.

The bottle in his hand felt noticeably lighter, and he peered at it, blinking hard as he tried to clear his blurry vision. Half gone. Setting the bottle aside, he collapsed back onto the couch, his inability to feel his lips cluing him in to his inebriated state. Now he remembered why he didn't drink liquor. At a certain point, it's numbing effects backfired, and things became all too clear.

He'd yelled at Mindy, and not for the offensive things she'd actually done, but for telling Alex something she should have already known. He'd rationalized not telling her, it hadn't come up. But really, how often did someone say, "Hey, are you divorced?"

His face felt hot, surely a combination of alcohol and shame. No, it wasn't Mindy's fault that Alex had broken things off with him. It was his fault, as always. Alex was a nice girl, she only grumbled a little when he didn't want to go do things, she kept the bathroom tidy when she was over, she didn't snore. But of course, he screwed it up, as always.

And then he'd yelled at Mindy, who was just… being Mindy. Sure, he'd specifically told Alex not to invite her, but he'd known as soon as she'd found out about it, that she'd show up. But he really hadn't wanted her to come. She stirred up things he wasn't prepared to analyze, an unfounded sense of betrayal when he saw her with Brendan, a flash of burning jealousy when she stepped into his apartment with a blond Adonis on her arm. The constant dickhead parade through her life set him on edge.

It shouldn't bother him. It bothered the hell out of him. He groaned, feeling dizzy as he sat back up, his head in his hands. The alcohol remaining in his stomach began to make it's way into his blood, pumping through his body. Why did it bother him? They weren't friends, damn it.

He swallowed, the walls coming down a little. It's just… so he didn't like it when she was mopey, or when she came to work looking haggard because she'd spent the night in a bottle of wine and didn't bother to run a comb through her hair. And maybe he did like it when he heard her tinkling laugh, when he could sneak a glance and catch her smiling, a big full smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. That was normal, wasn't it? Normal human behavior, caring about people in close physical proximity…

God, now he couldn't think about anything other than the mortified expression on her face when the prick had declared his profession in front of everyone. The absolute hurt when he'd hurled his angry words at her, even if they were true, they were beside the damn point. It didn't matter what he'd asked for, it never had.

He'd been staring at her face on his phone for the past ten minutes, some ridiculous picture with ten different filters (that's what she'd called them anyway) so she was basically unrecognizable, which totally defeated the purpose of a contact picture.

His eyes were heavy, the whisky swinging into full effect as he clumsily fumbled with his phone, his fingers finally finding their way to the call button. It rang and rang, eventually going to voicemail. Nope. He wasn't drunk enough for that. He hit 'end' and stared at the screen some more. Maybe it was for the best. No matter what he did, people always left. This budding affection he felt for her would only lead to disappointment.

He finally let his eyes crash down, only to be rudely drawn out of his melancholy by the sound of some horrible pop song buzzing in his hand. _E'erybody getting krunk krunk, boys trying to touch my junk junk._

He scrambled to answer it, dropping it down under his coffee table in the process. _Gonna smack him if he gets too drunk drunk._ He dove after it, rapping his forehead against the polished cherry as he grasped the phone, anything to stop the racket.

"Mindy?" His voice was scratchy, a little raw from the cigarettes he'd smoked tonight. He cleared it, but before he could continue, she jumped in.

"Of course, it's Mindy. How many people are you calling at three in the morning?"

His head was spinning, and he absently wondered if maybe had a concussion. The alcohol was making it too hard to concentrate. "Mindy, my phone is singing to me. What's krunk, and why is _e'erybody_ getting it?" The words slurred as they echoed in his apartment. Oh god, he sounded shitfaced… he was shitfaced.

"Oh my god, Danny, are you plastered?" She sighed hugely, sounding entirely put upon. "I suppose you get a pass, since you just got dumped."

"No… yeah… maybe. I kind of fell." He reached up, cautiously brushing his fingers across his forehead. There was definitely a lump, and a wetness that was not sweat. "... and there's a huuuuuuuuge lump on my head… and blood, Mindy, there's blood too."

He heard a rustling in the speaker by his ear, some disgruntled mumbling. "Seriously, Danny, are you drunk, or do you have a concussion?"

"Drunk… and probably not a concussion, probably."

She sighed audibly, the rustling getting louder. "So… were you calling for anything specific?"

Danny swallowed, suddenly liquid courage wasn't enough. He was quiet.

"Damn it, Danny, talk to me so I know you're conscious."

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok, just keep talking."

There was the faint sound of a car honking in his ear, and he could hear the slightly thready quality to her words, like she was a little out of breath. "No, I mean, I'm sorry for yelling at you… earlier."

"Yeah, that was a dick move, Castellano." She paused a millisecond before rushing on. "But, I suppose, if we're tossing apologies around, I'm sorry I overstepped my boundaries and told Alex about Christina, and maybe also the prostitute thing."

He lapsed into silence again, dropping his head back against the floor. This time he heard the definite sound of a car door slamming. Where the hell was she?

"Come on, Danny, talk. I'm almost there."

"What?"

"I have to make sure you're alive. You can't call me at three in the morning, drunk and bleeding and not expect me to come over and check you out."

He smiled at her choice of words. "I always knew you wanted to check me out."

"Lame."

"Are we okay, Mindy?"

She didn't answer him. By the time he asked the question she was already standing at his door. "Can you get up and let me in, or do I need to drag your super out of bed?"

"Coming."

He dropped his phone on the floor and hauled himself up, feeling incredibly dizzy as he walked toward the door. It had been years since he'd been this drunk, and he was in danger of throwing up like an overenthusiastic frat boy. He grasped the handle and jerked it open with a little too much force, wincing as it bounced against the wall.

Mindy strode across the threshold without preamble, guiding Danny back to his couch. She sat with him, one hand palming his cheek as she checked his pupils with a tiny flashlight. "There's barely any blood here, and I wouldn't call that quarter sized lump 'huuuuuuge.' So my diagnosis is, utterly schnockered, and not concussed."

She patted his cheek and he collapsed back into the couch, a long breath sighing out of him. "Why can't we get our shit together?"

"Hey, don't lump me in with you. I'm very together."

"Adam the prostitute?"

"Okay, okay…" She arched one eyebrow at him curiously. "Why _didn't_ you tell Alex about Christina? You have to admit, it's a little weird to not mention it for so long."

"Mindy… I just… I don't know… it's a failure… and Alex never asked… about anything really."

Mindy nodded, deciding not to comment. Instead she reached for the remote, flipping through the channels as Danny slumped further down into the couch beside her, his eyes drifting shut. He was snoring in seconds, shifting even closer to her. She took the opportunity to take a closer look at him.

He was flushed, his skin ruddy with the heat of alcohol, a fine sheen of perspiration on his forehead, making the hair where he'd ran his fingers through it stand on end. She reached out, instinctively smoothing it back down. Without thinking she pressed a quick kiss to his temple, tucking herself against his shoulder. "We _are_ friends, you idiot."


	2. Merlot

**A/N: Chapter 2, one more to go :D**

Her mouth was dry, coated in sand as tipped the bottle back up. Perhaps it was her choice of beverage making her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth, a sour taste sitting at the back of her throat. She eyed the half empty bottle of wine tucked under her arm as a queasiness washed over her. Okay, the bottle was more than half empty. She peered down the neck, the dregs swishing back and forth as she swayed. Her less than optimal depth perception causing the glass lip to catch her cheekbone before she poked her in the eye.

She whined, the sound morphing into a garbled sob. Shit. How did this always happen? She went straight for the devil's grape juice, piling the dark bottles of cheap wine in her grocery cart as she dodged side eyes from soccer moms, her Jackie-O glasses covering up the puffiness around her eyes.

She never started out with the intention of getting drunk. Wine was just a comfort thing when she was feeling blue, along with sour candy and not getting out of bed for days. Not the healthiest way of dealing with heartbreak, sure, but it was tried and true.

And yet, here she was, almost three bottles in, the cheap stuff too, no numbing effect at all. Intoxicated beyond believe, even though she couldn't pinpoint exactly when she'd crossed that invisible line between sober and sauced. She'd felt fine, glass after glass (well, they would have been glasses if she'd bothered) and nothing. It wasn't until she'd tossed the second bottle in the bin, rising unsteadily, that her head had spun, and she'd realized she'd gone a little too far, especially on a week night.

It was the only excuse she had for what she was about to do. Her phone clutched in her hand, she curled up on the sofa, letting the dark bottle slip from her hands. It clattered to the floor with a racket she barely noticed. Her thumb hovered over the call button, Danny's face filling the screen, that strangely boyish smile that used to make her stomach flutter.

Anger temporarily replaced the misery permeating her limbs. His smug smiling face, that bastard said they were _best friends_. He didn't want to ruin their friendship. Ugh. What a copout. Her lip quivered as she mentally berated him, unable to voice the words circling in and out of her mind.

Her trembling finger tapped the screen, and the ringing sound at her ear sent her heart jumping into her throat. She was going to give him a piece of her mind, even if it was a little incoherent and wine soaked. He couldn't be allowed to think that what he was doing was for their benefit.

"Mindy?" His voice was gravelly, and it sent the crutch of liquid courage flying out from underneath her. She wanted to crawl through the phone and wrap her arms around him, every bit of determined anger she'd been feeling evaporating. He sounded awful.

"Yes, Mindy. Who else would it be? Have you been smoking?" The question came out as an accusation, the words melding together of their own accord, the consonants far too soft.

"It's after two, is something wrong? You sound… strange."

The concern in his voice clawed at her, ripping her insides to shreds. If he cared so much, how could he do this to her? She screwed up her courage, and found her voice. "How?"

She could see his face, the way his brow furrowed when she was being particularly difficult, the sadness in his eyes as he walked away from her. She could imagine the hard swallow he must be taking right now, the only possible excuse for his hesitance. The tears, on the verge since he'd walked away from her, finally spilled out over her lashes, falling silently down her cheeks as she waited for his reply.

"How… what?"

"How am I your best friend? I don't understand… it's not… you said…" She couldn't continue, her throat closing up as if cold hands were wrapped around her throat, a choked sob the only thing able to escape. God, wine made her so weepy.

"Mindy…" Her name, softly spoken yet tinny coming out of the phone speaker, only reminded her of the distance between them. His apartment was so close, but it might as well have been the other side of the world.

"No, Danny. I don't get it. You didn't even _want_ to be my friend, and now we're _best friends?_ Just like that? How?" She felt sick, the bottles of wine sloshing around in her stomach. She wasn't even mad at him any more. She couldn't keep up the intensity it took to hate him, she just needed to know.

This time she did hear it, the deep breath before he spoke, his voice thick with emotion. "Min… It didn't happen all at once. I didn't wake up one day and think to myself 'Huh, I guess Mindy's my best friend now.' Okay. It just snuck up on me. One day you're irritating me in the lounge, singing aloud at full volume to whatever song is on your ipod, not caring that no one else can hear it, and then some other day I realize I don't mind it, haven't minded it for a while, miss it even when you're not there. You're the first I talk to in the morning and last person I think about at night." With each sentence his words grew more forceful, pushing past the lump in his throat. "You are so much a part of my life, that if you were to go away, if I ruined this, it would be empty. You _are_ my best friend."

"Damn it, Danny. You're not going to ruin anything." Mindy crumpled, the clawing she'd felt earlier morphing into searing lacerations. She couldn't handle hearing this, not again. Somehow he'd found a way to be heartbreakingly eloquent about this fucked up thing that he'd done. It wasn't fair. She needed more wine.

She shoved away from the sofa, taking one step before the sole of her foot found the stray wine bottle. It rolled beneath her step, sending her flying. Her phone skittered across the hardwood floor, and the sobs she'd been holding in while he spoke to her all spilled out at once, in what sounded like a sound bite from _The Exorcist_.

Once the floodgates were open, there was little she could do to close them again. So she just laid on the floor, crying into the plush area rug, halfheartedly stretching toward her phone. She gave up, curling into herself, the cries fading away to a soft keening noise.

She didn't know how long she was sprawled across the floor. At some point her tears dried, an emptiness settling in her chest, and she was left staring dazedly at the ceiling, her muscles limp like noodles. She could lay here all night… if that damn racket at her door would just stop, it was an incessant pounding, interspersed with her name.

The voice in the hall suddenly became incredibly frustrated, letting out a muffled curse. "Mindy, please, just let me know you're ok."

Danny's voice drew her out of her comatose state, pulling her hands up to her ears, she covered them, squeezing her eyes shut against more tears. She heard her name again, this time pitched high and slightly strangled, her door rattling in it's frame.

Drawing her knees to her chest she curled up on her side, finding little comfort in the fetal position as tears trickled down her cheeks. Maybe he would leave if she didn't respond. The thought of seeing his worried face was enough to make her sick. The copious amount of wine probably didn't help either. She shouldn't have called.

The squeak of door hinges surprised her, and she ventured to take a peek, opening one eye cautiously as she glanced toward the door. Unlocked of course. He stood perfectly framed by the doorjamb, incredibly tense, head swiveling back and forth searching for her. "Mindy?"

She knew she should say something, allay the anxiety she could see coursing through him, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. He whirled around, taking in a full three hundred and sixty degree view of her apartment, stopping abruptly when he spotted her curled up in the floor. He visibly relaxed, a long drawn out breath escaping him as relief flooded through him. He sighed out her name. "Mindy…"

"Go away, Danny." The words came out loud, thick with unshed tears.

He sunk down on the plush carpet beside her, and she tried to roll away, burying her face in the crook of one arm. He reached out to her, second guessing himself at the last minute before his hand dropped. He cleared his throat. "I'll leave as soon as I know you're ok."

Alcohol merely magnified her personality, and the words began to pour out her mouth, unstoppable, no matter how ill advised. "I'm not ok, I fell and busted my ass because I'd drank three bottles, _small_ bottles, of wine and needed another one to sit and listen to the bullshit you were feeding me over the phone." She was crying again, tears of frustrated anger, hiccups punctuating her sentences. "And you just barge in here-"

"You're door was unlocked." He said it quietly, almost like an afterthought as he watched her fall apart in front of him, this time reaching for her in earnest, pulling her into his arms, her head tucked underneath his chin.

She didn't pause to let him speak, but didn't fight his embrace either. "You _barge_ in here, like you're going to save the day. Like you're a friend coming to console me. Well, I can't be your friend right now." She wrestled herself from his grasp, unsteadily pulling away. "I don't know if I can ever be your friend again, Danny. Please go."

He shook his head, his mouth opening and closing in a failed attempt at refusal. Her resolve was weak, the scent of his cologne clogging her sinuses, the alcohol overheating her as she pressed her face into his chest, his arms drawing her back in as she soaked the soft cotton material. God, she was going to be hellishly dehydrated tomorrow. This was all a very bad idea, she attempted withdrawing one more time.

She could see the sheen of tears in his own eyes, and his jaw muscles worked away, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "Min, I'm… so sorry. Please, don't… god, don't cry. I didn't think it would hurt so much. Not so early, not for you."

She stopped crying, panting as she tried to catch her breath. "Danny, what the fuck? You think this is worse for you? _You were the one who broke things off!"_ She shoved him, or at least attempted to, instead managing to wiggle further into his lap. He was warm, and suddenly she was tired, so fucking tired.

She gave into it, falling against his chest, his arms coming up once again to cradle her as her own threaded around his waist. She buried her head in the hollow of his neck, mumbling sluggishly against the hot skin. "You are so… It's not fair."

She was hiccuping softly, her chest bumping against his with each spasm. He ran comforting circles across her back. "I was wrong."

"What? Danny, if you-"

He cut her off. "Just listen, please." He swallowed, a wayward tear escaping as he blinked. "I was so wrong. I realized it as soon as my feet hit the pavement. Leaving you hurt so badly, but I thought you'd be better for it. I didn't think…" His voice broke, the ability to speak suddenly leaving him. "I underestimated you, I was afraid…"

It was her turn to look at him in confusion, her tears finally drying up as her eyebrows knitting in irritation. "But-"

He stopped her with a kiss, capturing her lips hungrily with his own, trying to communicate just how much he'd missed her. She responded instantaneously, pressing herself close. They clung to each other, his fingers bunching the silk at her back.

There was a niggling thought, something important being kept at bay by her intoxication. He didn't make a move to take things further, just kissed her thoroughly, slowly, as if he were trying to memorize the exact texture of her lips. It was pleasant and had plagued her dreams in the two weeks they'd been apart… but there was something… god, something she couldn't quite reach, lodged in the back of her brain, drowning in wine.

She pulled away, blinking slowly as she tried to focus, her hands slipping up to trace the stubble along his jaw. He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing nervously as she studied him. There it was. "Danny… you can't do this to me. I want… things.. and if you can't give them to me-"

"I love you."

She was concentrating too hard, her listening skills severely impacted by her less than sober state, she pushed on. " - I can't waste time going in circles. It's time to stop screwing around. I want a family and-"

"I do too."

" - and, as you pointed out so rudely once, I need to … wait… what? You do?"

"Yes."

"You do?"

"I said yes, Mindy, do you want me to get it tattooed on my forehead?"

"Yeah."

"What? No!"

She wrapped her arms around him, giggling as her momentum sent them sprawling into the floor once again. She lay completely on top of him, their hips and chests aligned as she breathlessly peppered him with kisses. "You're not afraid any more?"

"Terrified… but it's okay. There's nothing that would ever hurt as much as walking away."

He rose, pulling her with him, settling on the couch. She resumed her affectionate attention. "I think I love you too."

"You think?"

"Well, I've had a eensy bit of wine, and I'm not entirely sure this isn't a dream." She sighed into his chest. She giggled. "Okay, it's not a dream. You never have disgusting pit stains when I'm dreaming."

She fought to keep her eyes open, but wine made her sleepy and she was powerless against the fatigue enveloping her. She yawned, making a contorted face as she struggled against it. Danny's hot breath landed on her ear, his nose threading through the curtain of her hair. "Go to sleep, Min. I'll be here when you wake up."

She sighed, drifting away, finally dreaming of things to come, instead of what could have been.


	3. Tequla Part 1: Don Julio

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, this last chapter totally got away from me and I had to break it up into multiple parts. This is the first one. It's much shorter than normal, but there are several chapters left :O. As always, comments are loved and appreciated, I take care of them like adopted children, giving them a permanent home in my inbox, the dears.**

Music thumped through the speakers, a fast paced beat that set her pulse thrumming. It was hot, and crowded, bodies jostling up against her as Maggie pulled her toward the bar. She was having the time of her life, sweat slicking her skin as her friend dragged her from the dance floor.

It wasn't exactly what she'd expected, and if Gwen had gotten her way they'd be having some lame sex toy party at her house in Greenwich, giggling over variable speed vibrators. She was a thirty something woman, who until pretty recently had been single in New York, she was good in that department. Thank god, Magpie had intervened and taken the reins on this one.

So, instead, they'd gone club hopping, Mindy in a neon pink sash emblazoned with the word _BRIDE_ in teal script, a tiara perched atop her head, only slightly askew from her exertions on the various dance floors of New York City.

Mindy yelled over the blaring techno music. "Maggie, it doesn't count. I wasn't really talking _about_ him. I just _mentioned_ that he would hate this place. People are wearing sunglasses in the dark." Squinting to see through the dim haze, lit only by erratic lasers shooting from unknown sources. Lasers? That may have explained the weird faux fog in this place. Where the hell were they?

Maggie ignored her, gripping Mindy's wrist tightly as they slipped through the overheated press of people. Mindy laughed, letting her assertion slip away. She was blissed out, all her best friends, yes the entire tier, traipsing around the city with her, plying her with alcohol every time she mentioned Danny. That was the rule. If he came up, she had to do a shot.

They finally reached the bar, pressing in close to stake out their territory, Maggie boisterously hopped up and down, shamelessly tugging down the already low vee of her blouse as she waved at the nearly muscle bound bartender. "Hey, sweetcheeks, over here!"

His eyes widened when he heard her, a spark of interest lighting in his eyes as he took the two women in. Bachelorette parties always meant bank. He quickly strolled over to where they were leaning, leading with his hips, his giant belt buckle drawing their eyes to what he considered to be the prize. Mindy giggled. "What can I do for you ladies?"

Mindy opened her mouth to order, but Maggie jumped in before she could say anything. "Three shots of your finest tequila."

He smiled, clearly having assessed the situation correctly. " _Don Julio_ it is."

"Three?" Mindy shouted her question, belatedly realizing they'd moved away from the source of the pulsing and incessant baseline.

"Yes three. One for me and two for you. Don't think I didn't hear you mention him _again_ on the way over here. It's a rule, Mindy!"

Thank god she could hold her liquor like a Canadian lumberjack. Mindy put the shot glass tentatively sniffing the golden liquid. Hmm… more like a Mexican wrestler, it was tequila after all. Knocking back shot number six of the night, she slammed the thick glass against the dark grained wood of the bar, perhaps a little more forcefully than she'd intended.

She picked up the second shot and tossed it back before the harsh burn at the back of her throat subsided. She screwed up her face. "Finest tequila, my ass, this is not smooth. I bet it's a decoy bottle. Danny sa-"

Her words were cut off by a slippery lime wedge being shoved in her mouth. "Suck on that, and shut up. Seriously, Mindy, I think the only way I can keep you from getting alcohol poisoning is to keep you from talking."

Pushing away from the bar she spun away from Maggie, laughing at the tang of the lime puckering her lips before she pulled it out and haphazardly tossed it back in the general direction of the bar. "I'm not that bad." She snapped her mouth shut before she said his name again.

Mindy didn't have the greatest hand eye coordination when fully sober, and her blindly lobbed missile hit an unintended target, a leggy blonde with quite possibly some Amazonian lineage. The tall woman immediately rose from her barstool, shoving Maggie aside with her perfectly manicured hands before she grasped Mindy by the shoulders. "You got a problem, little miss bend-it-like-beckham?"

Mindy's eyes widened, the combination of adrenaline and alcohol coursing through her veins giving her a false sense of bravado. She jerked out of the woman's grasp, standing as tall as she could manage on her sky high heels, still only coming up to the woman's ample cleavage. "No, it was an accident, so no problem, at least not until you dug your talons into my delicate skin. I'll even ignore your racist remark if you'll just be on your way." Mindy flapped her hands in a shooing motion, before turning away with a flip of her hair. Hair that was promptly caught by the aforementioned talons.

She yelped as she was yanked into the woman, both of them toppling to the floor, quickly surrounded by a fascinated group of onlookers. The scuffle itself only lasted a few minutes, the tall blonde landing one good whack to Mindy's cheek.

She screamed. "My zygomatic arch!"

Maggie rolled her eyes as she dragged her friend out of the fray. "You've really done it now blondie, she only breaks out the medical terminology when she's really wasted and hella angry."

Mindy was angrily, hot tears flowing down her face as she attempted to launch herself at her attacker. "You've poked _La Mariposa Loca_ , and I'm about to bring the smackdown." The seemingly nonsensical words gave her opponent pause.

It took Maggie and Alex to hold her back, while Gwen placated an angry bouncer, promising to get the loud little Indian woman out of the club.


	4. Tequila Part 2: El Perro Peludo

**A/N: Again, short update because I've broken this last chapter up into several :D... Please feel free to leave comments, I find them encouraging, as do most fic writers.**

"No, no, no, no, no, no." Danny put his hands up, fending off the slightly taller and slightly younger Italian man currently grasping his shoulders enthusiastically. "It's just supposed to be me and you, Castellanos having a few drinks at the pub, before the big day…" He trailed off, regretting the few celebratory shots he'd done with his brother already. The ability to formulate a proper argument against this was just out of reach. It didn't help that Peter and Jeremy were staring at him like gleeful schoolgirls about to go to their first dance. This was not going to end well.

Danny's shoulders slumped as he heaved a huge sigh. "Fine."

The word had barely passed his lips before the three men had completely hauled him out of the booth and propelled him toward the exit. Peter was dragging him along, one arm hooked under his. "Danny, I'm not gonna lie, tonight's probably gonna involve body glitter and more than a little tequila. Are you up for that?"

"No."

Peter ignored his reply. "Good, because tonight we're gonna _partay_ like it's nineteen-ninety-nine, which incidentally was a very good year for partying at Dartmouth, only one kid died, a banner year."

Before Danny could change his mind, they all piled into a waiting van, the driver hitting the accelerator without being given any directions. Danny had the distinct impression he was being kidnapped, and his shoulders tensed up, ready to spring for an escape as soon as the thing stopped.

Jeremy noticed his colleague's hands, balled up into fists at his sides, the faint sheen of perspiration glistening across his face. "Relax, Danny, you should know by now Peter is pretty much all talk and no action. It's just gonna be some drinking games and oversharing." He shrugged. "And maybe some greenery will get violated, who knows."

Surprisingly, Jeremy's words did have a relaxing effect, his hands uncurling as he wiped them on his jeans. A year ago, Danny would have never included Jeremy or Peter in the list of people he considered friends. Hell, even six months ago, he would have been a little hesitant about applying such a label, but something was different these days. There was an ease that had been absent for a very long time. Once all the big things had clicked into place, his dad, Mindy… the little things had changed too.

He swallowed, his tongue beginning to get the distinct papery feeling that came with dehydration. He needed to stay hydrated if he wanted to avoid a hangover. "Where _are_ we going, then?"

"Oh, we're going to a bar, one that _probably_ doesn't have strippers, but I can't say for certain. It's an address Stevie gave us so-"

"Stevie?" Danny yelped the name, his voice breaking on the second syllable, once again feeling the heat of irritation coursing through him. "No, no, no, no, this is not a good idea."

Suddenly there was a cool glass bottle shoved into his lap, Peter's face popping into his line of vision. "Stop being such a weird old man. Take a drink, get your pre-game on."

Danny clutched the bottle hesitantly. Fuck it. He was going to need to be plastered to get through this night. He glugged at the bottle, sputtering as the burning liquid pooled in his stomach. "What the hell is this? Motor oil?" He peered down at the bottle, struggling to read the label. _El Perro Peludo._ Danny racked his brain trying to remember the little spanish he knew. The hairy dog? That couldn't be good.


	5. Tequila Part 3: Don Julio Contd.

Mindy was enjoying herself thoroughly. The last place they went had been much nicer, a lot quieter, the trance club music flowing through the speakers. She barely even noticed the puffiness at her cheek. Drunk in spite of her liquor holding abilities, her eyes drooped heavily and she swayed, a content little smile spreading across her face.

Alex caught her, hooking one hand under an arm before she got completely off kilter. "Whoa, come on Mindy, just a few more seconds."

Mindy opened her eyes, the bleary image of her best friend filling her vision. The street lamps cast an ominous glow over them as they tried to hail a cab.

Gwen and Maggie had already piled into their own cab, Maggie perhaps in worse shape than Mindy, her attempts to go shot for shot with Mindy during the don't-talk-about-Danny game completely backfiring.

Mindy leaned heavily on Alex, her hair plastered to the side of her face with sweat. She was pretty sure she looked like a mess, but she couldn't find it in her to care. Tonight had been perfect, even with nearly drunken brawl.

Finally a cab stopped for them, the driver waiting patiently as Alex ushered the bride to be into the back seat. Mindy flopped against the slick vinyl..

"Did you see all those dudes ogling me on the dance floor? This thing must have magic powers." Her words were fuzzy, dampened by her inability to really feel her lips. She waved her left hand in front of her face, proudly displaying her engagement ring. The flashy jewelry distracted her from her train of thought. She sighed. "I'm getting married, Alex."

The sentence came out in hushed awe, her voice suddenly thick with tears. She sniffled as Alex drew her into an affectionate hug. Mindy mumbled into her friend's shoulder. "There's no tequila in this cab is there?"

Alex laughed. "What? Of course not."

Mindy smiled, letting her eyes drift shut. "Good, let me borrow your phone. Maggie took mine so I would be 'distracted' all night."

Alex dug around in her clutch for a few minutes before withdrawing her phone. Mindy snatched it, suddenly energized. She was humming, rather off key and little too loudly as she tapped out the numbers on the screen.

She paused, squeezing her eyes shut in concentration. Alex elbowed her. "What are you doing?"

"I'll never tell him it was actually useful, but Danny made me memorize his number using a silly song, in case of an emergency or something." A warmth not attributable to the agave spirits she'd imbibed curled in the pit of her stomach. "He's such a dork sometimes."

She started at the beginning again, humming to herself as she tapped the screen in time like a tiny drum, letting out a satisfied sigh when she remembered the last number.

The call went straight to voicemail, and her face immediately scrunched up in a little frown, but she decided to leave a message anyway. "Danny, there were so many guys at the clubs tonight wanting a helping of my brown sugar."

She wiggled away from Alex as her friend tried to wrestle the phone back. "Their eyes followed me across the dance floor like lions stalking a gazelle, which makes sense because I'm totally gazelle-like. It's probably why that blonde bimbo tried to take me out." She sniffled a little as she tested the tissue with her forefinger. "The bitch is lucky she didn't cause a traumatic bilateral orbital hematoma, jealous harpy simply bruised the musculature around my zygomatic arch."

All the medical terms blended together in a slurred mess, Mindy suddenly forgetting why she'd even called danny. Alex dove at her, but somehow even on the cramped space, Mindy managed to elude her, pushing her away with the hand not clutching the phone. "Don't get me wrong, I loved the attention (from the men, no the roller derby queen) but their stares had nothing on yours. Do you know you do this thing, this intensely hot thing, your eyes get all serious and dark, and it just sends heat zipping through me? How do you do that? Is it an Italian thing? Do they teach you to smolder after your first communion?"

She lost her train of thought, utterly distracted by the heat currently pooling between her legs as she thought about the very thing she described. Ugh, tequila turned her into a desperately horny college girl again. She whined into the phone. "Damn it, Danny, why didn't you pick up your phone? I wish you would come home tonight. I need my best friend."

"Hey? What am I?" Alex gave up trying to get her phone back.

The insistent need pulsing in her toppled her over the edge, once again near tears. It was a good thing she didn't drink tequila like this all the time, the rollercoaster of emotions was beginning to make her sick. Or maybe it was the actual alcohol sloshing around her stomach as the cab came to a stop.

Alex pushed her out of the cab, paying the driver with a somewhat apologetic look before she retrieved her phone. "None of that. Come on, let's get you to bed."

Alex guided her unsteady friend up the steps, wishing Mindy had forgone heels for once in her life. She teetered precariously before finally ascending completely.

The elevators had barely opened before they were greeted with the sight of a severely put upon Jeremy, pacing in the hallway.


	6. Tequila Part 4: El Perro Peludo contd.

Danny began to relax as the jet fuel posing as tequila trickled through his veins. The hard edges in his mind began to get noticeably softer, and he even started to think this night could be enjoyable.

That was, until the van came to a jerky halt, in front of what looked like an abandoned factory. Oh hell.

Stevie was waiting for them at the building's entrance, looking (if it were even possible) shadier than usual, his eyes darting up and down the empty street.

He gestured at the group, beckoning them urgently. "Come on, let's get inside, no more standing out here... in the open and whatnot."

They ducked into the dark entrance, the door clanging ominously behind them as Stevie pushed it to.

Danny blinked, willing his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Stevie ushered the group even further into the darkness. Stopping in front of yet another set of doors, he paused for dramatic effect. "Gentlemen, I welcome you to my latest business venture, _Chez Stefán_ , New York City's hottest new underground club."

He threw the double doors open, arms wide as he proudly displayed the result of his hard work. Hard work that Danny could only assume involved a lot of not so legit wheeling and dealing. Even the atmosphere felt like it was breaking the law.

Danny felt it, sitting like a week old meatloaf in the pit of his stomach. The slap dash array of tables and odd lighting choices did little to inspire confidence in Danny. The uneasy feeling he always got when Stevie dragged him into these endeavors swirled inside of him. It didn't matter that there was a smattering of seemingly satisfied patrons, chatting amiably as they drank.

It hadn't taken Danny very long to start listening to his premonitory gut feelings in regards to his childhood friend. Unfortunately this time it didn't look like he'd be able to duck out before things got hairy.

Richie noticed the queasy look on his brother's face and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, Dan, relax. It's your bachelor party. If I remember correctly you didn't have one the first time around."

He swallowed, the tinny taste of old alcohol making him wince. No, there hadn't been a bachelor party last time. He'd been in med school and there just hadn't been time, and even of there had, he distinctly remembered Christina wrinkling her pale little nose at the mention of such a party. _How déclassé, Danny._

She'd wrinkled her nose at a lot of things. Staten, his childhood friends, his ma's panna cotta. Mindy however, had practically pushed him out the door with his brother tonight, kissing him energetically before sending him on his way, the taste of agave already on her lips, a definite sparkle her eye. She'd definitely known about tonight's shenanigans.

His anxiety began to break into smaller more manageable pieces, finally dissolving altogether as his friends ushered him to what Stevie referred to as the V.I.P. section. It was little more than a large poker table cordoned off by velvet ropes, the pristine green surface illuminated by a low hanging stained glass light fixture. Very old school, Danny noted with appreciation, just beginning to hear the strains of Sinatra filtering out into the air. Maybe Stevie was on to something here.

Half an hour later, several good beers down his gullet, a Cuban clenched in his teeth, a very good hand of poker garnering him a rather nice pot, Danny was pulled out of his reverie by a rather dramatic outburst.

"Good god! This is boring! I can't believe Jeremy cancelled the strippers I had lined up."

Jeremy rolled his eyes. "They were from an establishment going by the worrisome name _Madame Delacroix's Soiled Doves._ I'd rather we all didn't go to jail for solicitation..." He nodded in Danny's direction. "You're welcome, by the way."

Danny nodded, hiding an amused grin. Peter couldn't take it though, huffing as he reached under the table. He slammed the infamous _Perro Peludo_ on the felt. "New game, boys. If we don't get to motorboat strippers, we're at least gonna get shit faced!" He unscrewed the cap, gesturing for a waitress. "Bring enough shot glasses for all of us, and also were probably gonna need another bottle of tequila, your cheapest."

When the waitress returned, Peter unscrewed the cap and carefully poured shots for all of them. "Here's what it's gonna be: since Danny's the guest of honor, he'll be the center of this game. We'll take turns asking him questions about Mindy, the more inappropriate the better, if he answers, we all take a shot, of he doesn't, then he takes a shot. Simple enough?"

"Hey, wait a-"

Danny's protests were drowned out by a chorus of encouraging words as each if the men took up a shot glass.

Peter, enthusiastic frat boy that he was, elected to go first. "Alright, we're all curious, except maybe Jer, since he probably already knows... How does her garden grow?"

"What?" A look of utter incredulity spread across Danny's face, but Peter merely grinned impishly.

"You know, is her map of Tasmania a lush grassland or...?"

Danny glared as he brought the vile tequila to his lips, tossing it back angrily. If looks could kill, Peter would be a smoldering heap of ashes.

The shot glass barely had time to settle back against the felt before peter had sloshed more golden liquid in it. "Next!" He called out, voice pitched at an unnecessarily high volume.

Stevie took up the gauntlet. "So, Little D, how long does it take... you know, to get her hear a heavenly chorus of angels? She seemed pretty hot to trot when she was into me, I bet not long, eh?"

Danny's hands fisted against the surface of the table, the caustic liquid setting heat radiating through his limbs. "You son of a-"

Peter cut him off, raising the shot glass in front of his faces "Another shot?"

Danny snatched it from his colleague's grasp, his nostrils flaring as he snorted out an angry breath. His jaw momentarily unclenched to make way for more of the liquid fire.

Without being asked, Jeremy leaned forward to continue the game, clearly amused by the glassy look enveloping his angry friend. "Alright Daniel, since we all appear to be 'going there' with our questions, I just have to ask... Does she still-"

Danny didn't even let him finish the question, snatching the third shot off the table. "That's enough, Reed!" This time, he sucked a little of the alcohol down his windpipe in his haste, coughing and sputtering violently, Richie's helpful palm giving him a good whack on the back.

Coming up red faced, he was more than a little dizzy. He sent a pleading look to his little brother, begging for mercy.

Richie laughed. There was no way in hell he would ask something inappropriate about his future sister-in-law. Danny relaxed noticeably.

"Come on Dan, we're all curious... What took you so long?"

The question surprised Danny, penetrating the haze of tequila sharply. He blinked, trying to focus. "What do you mean?"

"Oh come on, you were in love long before I got the call six months ago, telling me about the proposal. When you were sick, you were practically miserable with it."

Jeremy jumped in. "You don't know the half of it, Rich. He moped around the office like a lost puppy the entire time she was in Haiti, locking himself in his office to read her letters."

Danny swallowed, his inhibitions falling away as his head got lighter. "No, Jeremy, _you_ don't know the half of it. I wanted..." He sighed hugely, his shoulders slumped. "I mean, I don't even know the half of it." He shook his head, trying to find what he wanted to say. "There was always... something, and then, one time, just one time, she accidentally reached for me when she was scared... and I never wanted her to let go."

Jeremy frowned in thought. "When was that?"

Danny smirked. "That's another question."

"Fine, answer Richie's, then mine, we'll take two shots."

"It took so long because our timing was shitty, and then I was too afraid that I would mess things up." His voice was a little thick, his eyes glistening from more than just alcohol. He blinked quickly, clearing away the sudden emotion engulfing him. "And as for when? On the plane back from Santa Fe... Like I said, shitty timing."

Danny gestured to the shot glasses on the table, snapping his companions out of their strange silence. They all tossed back their shots, waiting patiently for Peter to refill their glasses so they could repeat the action.

Peter let out an animal like grunt, blowing out a long breath. "Ok, new rule, no more emotional questions. You guys are totally bringing me down. Don't make me call Madam Delacroix!"

Then convivial (bordering on violent when the questions got a little too inappropriate) atmosphere soon returned, and the group made their way completely through the cheap tequila, Danny getting too sloshed to keep from answering most of the questions anyway. He prayed none of them remembered anything he divulged.

Unsteadily he made his way to the bathroom, relieving his painfully full bladder before it burst. He looked around surreptitiously before slipping in a stall.

He patted himself down, searching for his phone, a sloppy self satisfied grinspreading across his face as he scrolled through his contacts.

He swayed, bumping his forehead up against the wall as he struggled to focus on the glowing screen. Finally he saw her face, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "Min..." He said her name as though her contact picture could physically conjure her, only belatedly realizing he actually needed to tap the call button.

It rang and rang, her voicemail picking up eventually, the chirpy little message tinkling against his ear. "Min..." He paused, his inebriated brain finding it difficult to construct coherent sentences. "Mindy, Mindy, Mindy... I love you..." There was something else, something he'd been planning to say, but it was just out of his grasp. "It shouldn't have taken me so long to grow a pair of balls and go for it."

His words came out in a slurry mess, and he concentrated on being more articulate. The call disconnected, his hesitance drawing out far too long. He immediately redialed her number, fully expecting it to go to voicemail yet again. He wasn't prepared for the extremely loud hello followed by a cascade of drunken giggles.

It was definitely not Mindy. "Who is this?" The question came out in an accusatory tone. "Where's Mindy?"

"Mindy's not here? Who's this?" His tone was met with an equally belligerent one.

"Who is _this!?_ This is Dan, damn it."

Their circular conversation was abruptly halted by a surprised squeak followed by a rustling sound, the line going suddenly silent. "Mindy!"

Then door to the stall swung open, pushing him back, the phone slipped easily from his sweaty palms, a horrifying splash telling of it's destination.

Peter dragged him out of the stall. "No calling the future missus, it's your last night as a free man! Live it _up!"_

Danny pushed back, unsteady on his feet but determined. "We have to go."

"What? No! Bro, it's early yet, there's booty yet to be seen out in the world, alcohol yet to be tasted, ambiguously employed women to hand your money over too." He peered over Danny's shoulder, wincing as he saw the smartphone settled against the bottom of the porcelain basin. "And we're gonna call that a loss."

"Give me your phone." Danny slurred out the words, already fumbling as he tried to reach into Peter's jacket. Finding what he was looking for, he shoved past him and darted out of the bathroom.

He scrolled through Peter's phone, growling in frustration when he got to the M's. There were at least four Mindy's, none of which had last names or contact pictures. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried fuzzily to remember her number.

He stumbled through the bar, kicking fruitlessly at a chair that somehow darted out into his path. All the tequila he'd drank rushed in on him, the heat flushing his cheeks as his vision doubled. "Shit." He stopped, closing his eyes in an attempt to make the room stop spinning.

Before he could make his way to the V.I.P. section, Richie was at his side, patting him on the back reassuringly. "Come on, Dan. I think it's time we take this back to Jeremy's place, as planned."

"No…" He struggled for form coherent sentences, his eyes suddenly heavy as he struggled against his brother's supportive grasp. "We have to go… home… to Mindy."

Richie was familiar with this belligerent attitude, and knew there was no arguing with Danny like this, the determined frown on his face, an almost amusingly contradicting his slurred speech and swaying stance. "Alright, alright… just a second."

He settled Danny in a chair, and had a quick huddle with the other men, ignoring Jeremy's exasperated eye roll, Peter's whiny pout. They returned to Danny's side, and hauled him out of the bar, practically dragging his feet along the pavement as he mumbled, "Where's Mindy?" over and over again.


End file.
